


Astronaut

by leithvoid



Category: Palaye Royale (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Recovery, Suicide, graphic drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 03:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leithvoid/pseuds/leithvoid
Summary: They say a high from heroin is like flying to the moon. In Michael’s case that saying rings true. This story follows Michael as he attempts to recover from a two year addiction to heroin. When his friend’s take him back out onto the road, where it all began, he struggles to keep the nagging urges quiet. He gives in and lapses. But his body and tolerance aren’t the same as they used to be, he is weaker now. Will Michael come back down to Earth? Or will he be an astronaut forever?





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> To those who were there from day one.

_Getting concerned about my lonely friend._

The crowds were loud and chaotic. Michael moved through the sea of sweaty people with his best friends by his side, he couldn’t believe they were there. Palaye Royale, where playing Warped Tour. This was a surreal thing for not only for the band but also Michael, who was tagging along with the band to help them film for their YouTube series.

Warped Tour was a traveling music festival that moved across the United States, the genre of music that it was known for was hardcore music like Slipknot, or pop punk music like Neck Deep. It was a genre of music that had a lot of fans and a lot of bands, so it was almost everyone’s dream to be able to be on a Warped Tour lineup. 

Another thing that was common in the scene of Warped Tour was drinking, drugs and sex, something that happened with fans, bands and the like. A lot of the band's did drugs on the road, whether that be just weed or things that are harder than that. It was a way that some of these people made it through the whole tour, and their own tours. They would drink and take drugs as a way to escape the world for a moment, or maybe to enhance their stage presence. 

On this tour Michael was introduced into a lot of new things, just like his friends were. And experimenting was something of a possibility, it wasn’t like Michael had never tried drugs before, he lived in a big city filled with all kinds of people. But tonight, he was going to try something he never thought he would. Heroin.

One night in Phoenix, Arizona, one of the last stops on the tour; Michael was surrounded by his friend’s and other bands who were doing drugs. Some doing weed, some snorting coke and others shooting up heroin. ‘Michael, buddy. You’ve got to try this.’ Someone Michael wasn’t really familiar with said to him. Alcohol in their breath and arm heavy on his shoulders, he held a syringe filled with a dark substance. 

‘What is it?’ Michael asked, not really sure what he was looking at. He didn’t particularly want to try anything that came out of a syringe, either.

‘Heroin,’ the male replied. Michael looked at it, he’d heard negative things about the drug that this man claimed to have. How did Michael know it was safe for him? Or that it was in fact, that drug.

‘Just this once, okay? You won’t regret it mate, promise. It’ll be the best thing you ever do,’ someone said near him. He didn’t want to bring down the mood of the party, so he nodded. The guy told him to roll up his sleeve and expose the crook of his elbow. 

‘Alright, tighten your fist, yep like that,’ the man said, Michael was nervous. He didn’t even know what to expect once the substance entered his blood stream. What was it supposed to feel like? ‘Once I shoot it, release your fist and just lay back, and enjoy.’ Michael nodded to the man; he watched the needle enter his soft skin. He twitched a bit at the small prick, but it wasn’t bad. Then the man pushed the plunger of the needle quickly, expelling the contents quickly into Michael’s vain — he released his fist and the effects were almost immediate. 

The feeling that overtook Michael’s body was warmth, at first, it spread through him like running water. He smiled as the feeling changed to a fuzzy relaxing feeling. He became a lot more relaxed which made him feel as though he was melting into the material of the sofa. There were no cares in the world for him right now, he could sit here forever looking at the night sky. Everything was beautiful and gorgeous around him. He felt like he could truly appreciate the night sky, the stars and the universe. He’d never felt so relaxed and open minded. It was like there was no gravity holding him to Earth anymore.

That night was going to change everything for Michael, it was going to lead to such a devastating addiction that no one saw coming.

***

Throughout the years that Michael had used, since that fateful night two years ago, he’d become a functioning addict. He was able to work on set and go to school for film all while riding the high. It is common for people who use drugs over a long period of time to become somewhat functional, their bodies became used to the state and adapt to the new environment.

He was able to uphold his relationship with his girlfriend; she never suspected a thing. Michael thought they would get married one day, because he truly loved her. He was able to keep his friendships tight and close to him without them finding out he was using, he could go out with them, stay at their house all without them finding out he was high. Just because his energy was always maintained due to the drug.

He was able to operate his life as normal, until his girlfriend broke up with him. She’d found out that he was using, and then found out how long for. She was done with him; she was repulsed by him. This event caused Michael to spiral into a dark black hole, which he didn’t plan on coming out of. He stopped going to school, he stopped talking to people, he was isolated and alone.

***  


One night Michael noticed he was starting to run low on supplies, so he called his dealer to see if he had anything for him. Hoping that he wasn’t going to have to spend half the night calling people to find a fix. Thankfully his dealer had what he wanted, and he arranged to meet Michael at his place. Michael knew no one would be home because he’s friend’s where on tour and they were the only ones who lived with him.

Michael injected his last shot just before his dealer rocked up at his house, the doorbell rang and Michael walked to the door opening it ‘Hey, Dave, come in,’ Michael said, letting the other man past him. Dave had been here a couple times, so he knew where the living room was, and he made his way there.

‘How are ya Michael?’ Dave asked, sitting on the sofa and slipping off his backpack. Michael followed suit sitting on the other side of the sofa.

‘Ah, you know pretty average. Works slow, mates are on tour,’ he explained bluntly, trying to not sound like all he wanted was his drugs. He was trying to get an abnormal amount this time because his friends were about to come home from tour in a couple days and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get anything without having to leave the house for a couple weeks.

When Michael’s girlfriend broke up with him, he moved in with his friends in Palaye Royale, they’d been living together for a year or so now and it worked for Michael. They were gone almost all of the time, with a couple of days or weeks in between two or three back to back tours. It gave him the space to use without worry of them finding out because he always knew when they would be back.

‘What about you? How’s business?’ He asked, crossing his legs under himself. He tried to come across as normal looking as possible, but his last dose was already starting to wear off and anxiety was setting in. His body burnt through the stuff quick.

‘You know, booming as always, LA is a good place to sell because, yknow its LA,’ he replied, smirk on his face. It was true, LA was a good place to sell, there where damned stars everywhere and the only way to get through life sometimes was to do drugs, drink and fuck everything that moved.

‘I got what you asked for, seems a bit much for one guy,’ Dave said as he grabbed his bag from the ground, unzipping it ‘you having a party or something?’ 

‘You could say it’s something like that,’ Michael chuckled, he pulled out his wallet. ‘How much?’

‘Two–eighty,’ Dave replied, shuffling things around in his bag to pull out a somewhat larger bag than normal, with smaller bags inside it.

Earlier in the day, Michael had picked up some new syringes. _I’m a clean addict_. He would tell himself. People who reused syringes made him uncomfortable, he knew how bad reusing needles could be, maybe it wasn’t as bad if it was only you who was using it but that was rarely the case.

Somewhere in his unconscious he didn’t want to risk his health, but it wasn't at the forefront of his mind. That’s why he was risking his life taking more than normal, or more than he’d ever had. Michael thought that if he died tonight that he wouldn’t have to hide it from his best friends anymore, he wouldn’t have to go through the pain.

Michael handed over the money and took the plastic bag, and after a few minutes of small talk Dave left. Michael was left to his own accord. Michael turned all the lights off downstairs and made his was up to his bedroom. He thought for a moment that he didn’t need to do this anymore, he could get better, stop even. 

Then he shook his head, he was too far gone now, there was no saving him. He closed his bedroom door behind him and sat on his bed, he prepared the syringe, by attaching the needle to the barrel. He then burnt the heroin, on a spoon, till it was dark in colour. He drew it up into the belly of the barrel and then got comfortable on his bed.

He tried a black ribbon around his left bicep and clenched his fist a couple times to make a vein visible. Once he found the vein, which was weak and bruised from how often he’d used it, he slipped the needle in slowly, no longer flinching at the pain only anticipating the high. He shot up and undid the toniquet.

He lay back in his bed and closed his eyes and the high started to take over him. Warm, fuzzy, like he was in bliss. Slowly Michael started to drift off, the only thing preventing him from fully falling asleep was the light coming through his windows. He pulled something over his eyes, not knowing what it was but it blocked out the light well enough. 

The past couple weeks of his friend’s being home they knew something was wrong with him. He was less social, when normally he couldn’t wait to see them. He was slipping into a darker mental state, dropping all work projects and leaving school, it was not like him.

Michael thought life was pointless, he didn’t see why he should be alive. His mind was fighting him to get it together, but he also wanted to just be high forever. As he dozed off again in his bedroom alone, he realised that he needed to stop doing this, if not for himself then for his friends.

***

‘Michael, hey, Mike, get up,’ a distant voice called to him. It was a familiar voice; someone he knew well. He opened his eyes to see a thin frame of a man, blond pointy hair and dark eyes. ‘We gotta go,’ he said.

Michael nodded. Groaning, he rolled out of bed. He was starting to feel the withdrawals of not having shot up in six hours, but he was doing this for himself and for his friends. He needed to. Shaking and sweating he started to get ready to leave, having already packed his bags the previous night. He showered, got dressed and said goodbye to his room.

He was driven to a rehabilitation centre, outside of LA, and was checked in. He said goodbye to his friends, and they wished him luck. Michael knew this was it, he was going to be here for as long as he needed. Until he was clean and ready to face the world again.

The rehab was not what he expected. It wasn’t all clean and sterile like a hospital. It was a small house with a couple other patients. There where workers that they worked with, they told him all the things he could go through while detoxing from the drug use. It was going to suck, no doubt, but it was all going to be worth it in the end. 

He got along well with the other people who were there recovering, Michael was a social butterfly when he wasn’t using. He slowly got back into film, he made sure he kept talking openly about how he was feeling. ‘Some days are harder than others, but I’m doing okay.’ He would tell his best friend over the phone, he’d call every other day. It was nice to have someone who cared enough about his recovery to check up on him even though they were on tour and busy.

Michael couldn’t wait to get out of this place and finally be home, even though he knew it would be hard. Getting used to that environment again wasn’t going to be easy, the memories and triggers it was going to give him, it was going to be a challenge. But he was ready to face it. He stayed in rehab for four months, he left when his friends came back from tour, so they could look after him and help him readjust. 


	2. Part 2

_I’ll fly to the moon again._

There was a soft knock on the thin wooden door of the tour bus bathroom. 'Leave me alone,' a raspy voice came from behind it. It was cold and dim inside the tour bus, sometimes it was hard to see where you were walking and often you would trip over things. 

Another knock.

'I said, leave me alone,' the voice responding seemed breathier. Anxiety already swum under the knocker’s ribcage because of how long the other had been in the bathroom, and their response was causing it to rise. Their heart was picking up pace as time lengthened.

Though this was something that would have not normally caused anxiety, he’d noticed some changes in the other’s mood and general presents while on the tour bus tonight. He was worried about Michael. He’d isolated himself to his bunk, he napped for a couple hours and then seemed to be quite dazed — signs of lapsing. 

The bad had the day off tomorrow, which usually meant the band would get drunk and have fun because they had a whole day to recover. Tonight though, the knocker and Michael had planned on watching movies and eating popcorn. Even though they didn’t plan on drinking tonight this wasn’t how they’d thought it would go.

Michael started to develop cravings for a high early in the day, he didn’t tell anyone because he thought he had it under control; trying to breathe through it and tell himself he didn’t need it. He tried to put into practice the things he’d learnt in rehab, distracting himself from it by reading, helping set up the stage; but it didn’t help. 

While the band was playing Michael met up with a dealer out the back of the venue, finding old contacts wasn’t hard. He took his purchase into the bathroom and shot up, the feeling he got after having not used in six months, it was everything he remembered it to be. He sat slumped against the cubicle door with his mouth hanging open and eyes close for several minutes as the drug coursed through his system. 

He was able to keep a handle on the high pretty well after the first few moments of injecting, he was able to be functional. No one seemed to really notice, so he thought. As he started to come down that’s when he felt like he didn’t have control anymore, that was when the knocker became worried about the changes that he’d noticed in Michael earlier.

When Michael had come out of rehab his friends where all informed of the warning signs, how to help with cravings and urges, they even had a safety plan with him, they had everything they needed to help him. They usually watched him like hawks, but he knew he was able to get away while they performed.

He just needed it this once. Michael thought he had it under control. He was careful. Nonetheless, here he was at 12:20 AM, sitting on the bathroom floor shaking.

Back when he was using, coming down from the high was always prevented because he had another shot to go, he was able to avoid the pain. But now he was just reliving what he went through going to rehab; sweating, shaking and nausea. These are common withdrawal symptoms. There was always a small part of him that was scared he’d die like this, on a bathroom floor _alone_. But a bigger part didn’t care, if anything that was the goal, something never changed that in his mind.

He’d not used since he got out of rehab 6 months ago. That was the longest he’d not used in over two years. He tried to justify it to himself that it was a reward, but inside his mind he knew it was a lie.

Michael felt his head become foggy, like he couldn’t focus on one thing. Everything was very bright and loud; he squeezed his eyes closed and wrapped his arms around his legs, tighter.

'Just unlock the door,' the sound of their voice felt like thunder to Michael’s ears, he wanted the sounds to stop. But he didn’t know how to stop them, he just shook.

'N-no, leav-ve me al-lone,' Michael stuttered, trying to talk through chattering teeth, trying to make his voice clearer. It hurt his head to talk loudly but he needed too, to make sure the other wouldn’t try to come in.

_I deserve this_. Michael wanted to suffer; this was his punishment for lapsing. He’d worked so hard and threw it all away.

The knocker was starting to panic now. Options ran through his mind as to how to get into the bathroom — one of the quickest and most effective solutions was to just kick down the thin wooden door. That was the option his anxiety was telling him to choose, but he decided against that and went for the more appropriate, level-headed, solution of asking for the spare key from the driver. 

'I’ll be back with a key, hold on,' the voice said.

Michael nodded his head, not really sure what he was responding to. He’d not heard clearly what the knocker was going to do, but he was also not very away of what was happening around him. The room grew more and more blurry, he didn’t know if it was his vision of withdrawals or both. Fear ignited inside him like fire to lighter fluid. 

‘Guys, do you know where the spare key is to the bathroom? Michael’s in there and it’s not good,’ the knocker said, frantic to the other people on the bus, his band members. Panic was now reaching the flood levels inside him.

‘Ask the driver,’ one replied, looking at the knocker with a raised eyebrow.

Grabbing his mobile he called their driver; they were quite close at this point, having been on the same bus for some time. It rang and the knocker passed the slim hallway, the others watching him bitting his nails ‘Hey, do you have a spare key for the bathroom?’ He asked, voice now sounding more frantic matching his rising anxiety.

‘Yeah, in the top cupboards, at the back there is a small box, in there,’ the driver responded. He thanked their driver. Hands shaking, he tried to get the box out and get the key.

Michael leaned on the wall, shaking, knees pulled closer to his chest and arms tightening around them. He was sweating so much from the withdrawals that his brown hair was sticking to his face, no matter how many times he tried to push it back it didn’t move. His eyes were bloodshot and dark around the sockets, his face losing colour. The longer he was like this without medical attention the weaker he was going to get.

For a split moment the fog in Michael’s brain cleared and he thought about letting the person on the other side of the door in, then the clarity was gone. He was only sure of one thing; he was going to sit here against this wall until it all stopped. No matter how the was going to happen. He felt guilty, like he’d spat in the face of God himself. He’d thrown his second chance away and for what?

The knocker jogged back down to the end of the bus, heart racing, hands shaking slightly. Now the other members of the bus had been brought to awareness about the situation, it was hard for them to not help. ‘Just give me space to breath,’ the knocker spoke, trying to get everyone to back up. His chest was starting to tighten, anxiety starting to trickle over the edge of the flood gates.

‘I think he lapsed,’ the knocker said. He knocked again, he didn’t wait for a reply because of the anxiety was now overflowing. He fumbled with the key for a moment — trying to get a key into a small hole wasn’t easy when you were shaking. Finally, he got the key into the lock, it clicked open, the knocker pocketed the key. He didn’t know what he might need to do but he felt better having both hands free in the moment.

H pushed open the door, preparing for the worst. The things they were told about or read about involving withdrawals for heroin addicts wasn’t sunny. It was scary, terrifying even. Reading and hearing about what happens during a lapse or withdrawals isn’t enough to prepare you for the real thing. Nothing is; except the real thing.

Where they ready to see that? Was he ready to see that? 

When the knocker opened the door they saw Michael, curled up on the floor of the bathroom, shaking. The anxiety grew tenfold inside the standing male. 'Michael,' he said quietly dropping to his knees to wrap his arms around the shivering boy. As soon as the knocker made contact with Michael everything faded away, it was just them, they were alone and helpless. The knocker felt like no matter how loud he called out for help, no one would hear him.

'I’m calling an ambulance,' a voice came from behind the two. It brought the knocker out of his mind, the surrounding come back to him. The voice didn’t sound panicked, but it sounded urgent, controlled. Michael felt cold in the other's arms; he was shaking so much that the knocker also mimicked his movements from just holding him.

Michael felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, shallow and fast paced. The knocker held Michael’s body close to his, Michael felt the heat of the other’s body, but he didn’t feel warm. He was embarrassed of the state his friends where seeing him in, he was trying to hide his face from them, he didn’t want to see them.

'Hey, Michael, I’m right here,' the knocker’s voice was quiet and calm, his arms where getting damp from Michael’s sweat. Michael shivered in the other’s arms; he could feel that someone was there, holding him but he didn’t know who. The words were calming regardless, they were something he needed to hear in order to become slightly more grounded; bring him back to reality. Michael leaned more into the other person’s body. He needed to let them help him, maybe they could save him.

'I’ve got you, just hold on for me,' the knocker said. The person who had called the ambulance must have told the driver because they were starting to pull over now.

***

The bus was pulled over and now the group listened to the soft sobbing and muttering of words coming from the inside of the bus, while they all stood outside. They had been told to give the knocker and Michael space so that he didn’t feel so intimidated or overwhelmed. The knocker didn’t want to let anyone near Michael, but he was asked to check Michael’s arms for an entry point of the needle.

They needed some kind of confirmation that Michael had used so that the paramedics knew what to expect when they got there. Though there was no pressure for him to check if he couldn’t.

Michael’s shaking had only increased, his teeth chattered. The more the knocker talked to him, the more Michael was able to have a little clarity in his thoughts. He mumbled to himself trying to get words out, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks he regretted it; he didn’t think it would have turned out like this. 

He wanted to die. _It’s what I deserve_.

'I can’t hear you Mike,' the knocker prompted softly, lowering his head closer to Michael’s face. 

'I just wanted to go to the moon,' he barely got out; his words broken by soft whimpers. 'I’m, I’m sorry Remi,' Michael apologized. Remington's heart started to twist and sink at Michael’s words, slow and painful, this was confirmation. Michael had used and somehow, he missed it — _they all missed it._ Remington tried to push it from his mind and soothe his friend, holding him tighter and trying to push some of the hair from his sweaty forehead.

Remington knew it must have been heard for Michael, he’d never doubt that. It hadn’t mattered that Michael had the best; a stable home, educated friends, his own recovery but lapsing was something that was extremely common in recovery. Everyone lapsed at some point in their recovery.

Remington knew it wasn’t his fault, but he still felt the guilt eat at him in the background, he also wasn’t the only one who was going to feel it. They all were. They knew Michael could make his own choices — but sometimes he just didn’t have a clear mind when making those choices and because of that, nights like this happen. 

'You don’t need to be sorry. It’s okay, Mikey.' Remington felt himself shiver, his own bodies reaction. The realisation that Michael might not be able make it dawned on him, his anxiety rose further. Michael could die and _he_ was apologising, it was almost humorous if not for the seriousness of the events taking place right now.

'I’m sorry,' Michael kept repeating under his breath, teeth chattering. There came a point where Remington wasn’t sure if the sorry’s were directed towards himself and not to Remington, or if it was just the only thing he could get out. Regardless, Remington held Michael close to his thin frame, now sitting with his legs around him, attempting to protect him from the invisible demons swimming in the air.

Remington had two brothers, but he’d been friends with Michael long enough to count him as one, Remington would do anything to protect them. There were two kinds of protectiveness that Remington expressed, one more than the other, he could be a very forward protective person. Yelling and not letting a damn thing in his way of looking after someone — which was the more common side he’d show. But his soft protector came out, the one who would take you somewhere quiet and talk to you. Reassure you, make sure you had what you needed; this was more of a one on one with people he knew best. It was easier for Remington to open up in that way to people he knew through and through, that strangers.

Michael’s muscles were twitching, not enough for Remington to notice. They were only small twitches, they were so small Remington probably passed them off as just shaking. Remington wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there, cradling Michael in his arms, but he knew Michael was only getting worse.

When the paramedics arrived the person who called them brought them onto the bus and then showed them where Michael and Remington where. Remington had not noticed the paramedics — he was running his hand up and down Michael’s upper arm to try comfort both himself and Michael. Remington was hyper-focused on the protection of Michael that it was like nothing around him existed, though it was different to the tunnel vision he experienced earlier.

'Sir, you’re going to have to let him go so we can look him over,' a female voice floated into Remington’s ears. He lifted his head from Michael’s to look at the person who’d spoken to him.

'I’m scared if I let go, he’s going to fall apart.' Remington wasn’t someone who cried often, if at all and whether that was society's fault or not, who knows. But right now, his brother and the paramedics were looking down on a fragile boy, one holding onto his best friend for dear life. There were tears running down Remington’s soft pink cheeks, his eyes wide and frightened. No one had ever seen him like this. The pure terror leaked from his pores, if you could smell emotions this room was filled with it.

'He is going to be okay, we’re here now,' she responded voice still calm. She rubbed Remington’s back for a moment to calm him, and Remington slowly let go of Michael and let the paramedics take over. He sat for a moment at the edge of the room, watching them work on Michael. Listening to his heart rate, checking his pulse and temperature among other things.

Remington was able to make himself stand up, back pressed to the wall for stability while he got his bearings. He was weak from all the energy he’d been expending for however long, his legs weak from sitting. He turned to walk out of the bathroom to give the paramedics more room, and almost fell into his younger brother's arms. Remington wrapped his arms around EK’s shoulders like he was oxygen in a word filled with carbon dioxide. EK wrapped an arm around Remington’s torso in return, trying to stabilise his brother.

EK, though the youngest, wasn’t as worked up as Remington was over the situation. Don't mistake him, he was worried about Michael’s safety, that’s why he called the ambulance. But he was also able to let a lot of worry go once the paramedics arrived and took over caring for Michael. He knew that they could help, he had faith in them.

'It’s okay, Rem. He’s going to be okay,' EK whispered to his older brother while sharing a look with the others, who had propped themselves through the door of the bus to see what was going on. He rubbed Remington’s back and kept a strong arm tight around the older boy’s waist. Remington was still shaking, EK brought it down to just anxiety and stress. Which they were all feeling right now, Remington’s was just a lot higher.

Remington cried into EK’s shoulder, quiet tears, but EK could feel that he wanted to cry louder. He knew Remington wanted to let it all out, scream and break things, but he stayed quiet in his arms and kept it together as much as possible. 'It’s okay, Rem,' EK repeated, knowing it wasn’t really helping Remington to hear those words, but he tried his best with what he had.


	3. Part 3

_That you’re on your own._

It didn’t make much sense why hospitals weren’t inviting; the cold and dim lights, the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting rooms and the silence. You always felt out of place no matter how you get there. You’d think that because these were places where people came for help, for life changing surgeries that maybe they would make them — if not the whole hospital just the waiting rooms — a little more comforting. The magazines could only distract _some_ people for so long until they’d read every single one there. The TV’s never showed anything remotely interesting, so people just watched out of boredom while their brain’s ran on empty.

Tonight, the ER waiting room was filled with a particular group of people. Sitting awkwardly in the plastic chairs. All being over six feet tall (apart from the one with the camera), skinny and dressed in mismatching clothes that seemed almost theatrical but didn’t go together as a group. For example; one of the older men wore a tailored suit that was purple and black, and another wore yellow plaid jeans with a white t-shirt.

Remington was the most physically exhausted looking one of the group. He had been trying to keep his heavy eyelids open for over an hour. He was resting his bleach blond head on his younger brother’s shoulder, which probably wasn’t helping him keep his eyes open. EK, the youngest brother, had an arm wrapped around Remington’s back holding him close. He knew how much this had been for his older brother, and there was a sense of protection within him that had kicked in once Remington fell into his arm’s earlier.

The band had been sitting there for a couple hours, but it felt like forever. Michael was taken into the ER, they needed to perform an invasive assessment on him. They needed to work fast to get him into stable vitals; there were several tests they needed to do to, some to determine how much he’d actually used, so they were able to treat him correctly. While one of the paramedics where hooking Michael up to machines in the ambulance before leaving, Remington sitting beside him holding his hand, they received a brief overview of Michael’s past with heroin use.

‘He used every day for two years, he overdosed multiple times but made it through without hospital admission, he went to rehab for four months and has not used since then,’ the oldest brother had told the paramedic, who was writing this all down.

'Anyone want a coffee?' The boy with two colours in his hair asked, standing up from the odd cluster of oversized boys. There were a couple of hums of agreement, he nodded taking the name’s in his head. They’d spent so much time together over the years on tour he knew all their order’s by heart.

'Remington…’ The double-colour-haired boy crouched in front of Remington, resting a soft hand on the other’s knee. ‘Want anything?' Remington shook his head, he was hungry, he just didn’t think he would be able to keep anything down until he knew something about Michael’s progress.

'Rem, you should really eat,' the oldest brother tried to suggest. EK shot Quinton a look that might have intimidated someone who didn’t know him. Quinten did know him, so he was hardly frightened of his baby brother.

'Fuck off Quinton,' Remington said, voice rough as he had not spoken since he arrive at the hospital. EK tightened his arm around Remington slightly. Nothing would stop Remington from fighting his older brother in a hospital waiting room if he wanted too. EK didn’t want that to happen, so he held onto Remington. Quinton closed his mouth and didn’t talk again. The duel-coloured-hair boy stood up, giving Remington’s knee a soft pat and headed through the hospital waiting room to the cafeteria to order everyone’s coffees. 

One tray of coffee’s in hand, he walked back into the waiting room, he started to hand them out to the group: one to Quinton, one to the oldest person there (who sat next to Quinton), and one to the guy with the camera. As he sat down and sipped on his own, he heard a 'thanks Xavier.' from the male sitting next to him.

‘No stress, least I can do,’ he replied, small smile on his pale lips. The coffee was exactly what you would expect from a hospital, bitter and way too cold for its own good. But it was caffeine and they all needed it.

Every time a doctor would come out of the double–doors into the emergency waiting room Remington’s heart would jump into this throat. His fight-or-flight response kicking in, ready to jump at the call of Michael’s name. Yet, they never called Michael’s or their names. Remington didn’t know if he would even be able to see Michael because he wasn’t ‘technically’ family, but Michael was an adult and Remington was pretty sure that he was Michael’s next of kin — or Quinton was.

As more time passed the sounds around them went on; people talked around them, people cried, holding onto their loved ones, there where ambulances that came and went and sometimes you could even hear screaming from behind the double–doors.

Eventually Remington lost the fight with his eyelids, falling asleep on EK’s chest. As Remington was losing the fight, he curled up on the plastic chair, pulling his knees closer and closer into his chest. EK kept a firm arm around his older brother making sure he felt comfortable and safe, he’d slid down in the chair so that Remington’s head was able to rest better on his chest.

Remington wasn’t the only one who had a best friend who was in the hospital right now, Michael was friends with all these people, but he’d been friends with the brothers for the longest. So, even though EK paid the most attention to Remington, himself and Quinton were also battling their own anxieties and worries about if their best friend was going to be okay.

Out of the three brother’s EK thought that Remington was the most emotional in a physical sense, EK probably showed the least emotion out of the brothers. Remington always needed physical affection and reassurance to feel better, it might not have been a good coping mechanism, but it was better than drinking or drugs. Ever since Remington and EK were young they’d attached themselves to each other, Remington felt a lot more of an emotional connection with EK than with Quinton. It was hard for the two younger brothers to feel a huge emotional connection with their oldest brother because he’d acted as their parent (father), in a way, for most of their lives. There was a disconnect between them.

EK felt dread inside him. _What if Michael couldn’t come back from it this time? Why had he felt the need to use when he was with his friends, who wanted to help him get better? Why didn’t he talk to anyone? Was it his fault that Michael used again?_ He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, so they were only just noticeable.

Quinton on the other hand, was very composted through the whole night. He old talked when he needed to, he kept everyone in check and made sure that the right people got what they needed. In these kinds of situations Quinton was the leader of the group, he was the one who stayed calm. It probably came with the fact he had to be a father figure for his younger brothers when he was quite young, so he was able to deal with stressful situations in an appropriate manner.

Quinton sat next to the oldest male of the group; the lights flickered outside as it moved into the AM of the morning. The hospital waiting room never seemed to be more or less busy, Quinton noticed. It seemed to stay at a decently constant flow, some people left and were replaced by new people soon after.

'You good?' The oldest male asked Quinton quietly. Even though none of their sleeping friends would have woken, he didn’t want to risk waking up Remington who was only one person away from him.

'Yeah, just tired. You?' Quinton responded, stretching his arms above him and then resting one behind his friend. He’d been sitting for a long time, almost six hours. With only one coffee in his system and having the exhaustion of performing earlier that night hitting him. He’d thought about getting up and walking around or going outside but he didn’t want to miss anything with Michael.

'I need a smoke,' the older man said. He stood up and straightened his leather jacket and rolled his head around to stretch his neck. 'Come with?' He offered. This was the perfect way to get out of the room, if they went out together Quinton wouldn’t feel as bad about leaving.

Q agreed to go outside with the other by nodding, he gently tapped EK on the shoulder and pointed to the door EK nodded. EK’s went back to running his fingers through Remington’s flat blond hair once Q turned away from him. Quinton followed the other male out of the hospital and up to the road in front of the hospital and lit a cigarette, inhaling and exhaling. They stood close to each other, so they didn’t have to talk loudly.

'Vincent, did you notice him disappear at all?' Quinton asked.

The sky was dark but not as dark as one would think at this time, it was milky almost. There where bright lights from the hospital parking lot and the road that bleed through the dark morning. You could see an abundance of bugs that flew around the lights, too high up to bother anyone. It might not have seemed like an out of the blue question but if he’d noticed something maybe he’d not mentioned it because the others were around.

'No, I didn’t.’ Vincent moved his weight from foot to foot, seemingly uncomfortable or nervous. ‘I thought he spent the day with EK but maybe he lied? It’s common for people with addictions to lie to the people trying to help them. They avoid the help so they can feed their addiction,' Vincent explained, sounding confidant in his reply. Quinton raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

Quinton looked down at the pavement and sighed, he took another drag of his cigarette and looked up to his best friend 'You seem to know a lot about it, is there something we don’t know, or something _I_ don’t know?' Ashing his cigarette. It wasn’t his first thought, but it was something he observed; how Vincent just seemed to talk about how addicts acted. It sounded like he knew more than he led on about what was going on.

There wasn’t anything Quinton and Vincent didn’t share with each other; they were more than best friends. They spent days, hours and sleepless nights smoking, drinking and talking about their lives. Vincent was a few years older than Quinton, so he liked to tell stories of the tours he’d been on with bands — Vincent was a sessional bass player. Bands would hire him for a tour or two, some of the stories he had where unreal.

Vincent took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled like a sigh, it seemed like he was preparing himself to say something he’d not really been ready to talk about ‘I had a friend who—’ Vincent was cut off by Xavier running over to them from the hospital. Quinton put out his smoke and met Xavier halfway, Vincent right behind him.

'Michael,’ Xavier tried to catch his breath, ‘we can see him,' Xavier finally finished through the heaving of air in between words. The distance from the hospital too the road wasn’t great, but it was up a decently sloped hill. Xavier held his sides for a moment. 

The three walked back to the hospital at a fast pace, Xavier trailing behind them still trying to catch his breath. Quinton knew that Remington wouldn’t wait for them to go see Michael, Michael may have been everyone's best friend, but he was a closet with Remington. 

They did _almost_ everything together; they tried alcohol and drugs for the first time together, they went on adventures around Los Angeles together, they watched movies together, cooked together. Michael would never have become a videographer if Remington didn’t push him to do what he loved.

***  
  


The feeling of melancholy riddled his bones, when Remington found out how long Michael had been using. He felt helpless, abandoned and hurt — all for a drug. There was self-doubt that rang like a bell in his mind _Was it my fault? I shouldn’t have taken him on that tour. This is my fault. _And even though This wasn’t true, it was on a loop inside Remington mind for a while before he knew he needed to pull himself back.

On tour it was hard to keep friendships, with being away eight to nine months of the year. Michael and himself always made it work, Michael knew what it was like to be on tour, he understood. Remington thought he was just busy, but he wasn’t, he was high and disconnected from the world. When Remington realised, he needed to put himself last, that’s when he got Michael on board to go to rehab.

The doors opened and a doctor came out, there was a moment of silence in the waiting room while people waited to hear what name he’d call out. Remington woke with a start; anxiety was instantly high, and his heart was pounding ‘What? What happened?’ He blurted out. EK just nodded to the doctor who was walking over to them. As the doctor talked, EK rubbed circles into the small of Remington’s back, Xavier taking off out the door to get Quinton and Vincent.

Remington and EK were led to Michael’s room, the doctor still talking to them. They had told the male with the camera to wait for the others and then just asked one of the nurses to direct them to the room. 'Mister Bolten is still quite tired, he’s been vomiting which is a result of both the IV course he is on and withdrawals from the drug. He is going to need at least a twenty-four-hour cycle on these IV’s to make sure his body is flushed of the drug,’ the doctor was telling them, Remington not really paying attention as his heart was tightening inside his chest. He felt like he was going to throw up from the amount of anxiety inside him. The closer they got to the doors the wider the floodgates opened.

They arrive at Michael’s room, the doctor leaving them there to attend to other patients. 'Remington, you need to try and calm down.' EK grabbed his brother’s hand, and then placed a warm palm to Remington’s cheek. EK knew Remington was anxious, he was shaking.

'Look at me Remi,' he said with a slight demand in his voice. Remington looked into his younger brother’s blue eyes, unable to resist the demand in EK’s voice. 'Calm. You have to be calm,’ EK repeated to him ‘for him.' Remington nodded slowly, squeezing EK’s hand. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes on the exhale, nodding.

The two turned to the door and EK was the one to reach out and pull on the handle, he took a deep breath himself. The door opened inwards. Remington’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight, it was confronting too see someone you loved in this way. Michael was laying on his back in the bed, his eyes were closed. His hair was pushed back off his face, and pale. At first EK didn’t recognize his friend, but when Remington went in, he followed suit.

There were two IV’s in his hands, one that was a liquid used to flush drugs from His system and another to hydrate him. The blankets were pulled over him neatly, he looked peaceful, no longer shaking or sweating; he wasn’t muttering sorry anymore. He looked free of pain. 

The monitors beeped in the background, Remington walked up to the left side of Michael’s bed, EK closed the door. Michael looked untroubled. It looked like Michael was having the best rest of his entire life. Remington reached over the railing of the bed and slipped his hand under Michael’s to hold it, he was warm. 'Mikey...' He tried; he didn’t really know what he wanted to say to his friend. EK thought Remington just wanted to let Michael know he was there. 

Remington’s heart shattered then, if you listened hard enough you could almost hear the echoes of glass breaking from inside the taller boy’s body. He took in a sharp breath trying to hold himself together _Be calm, for him._ EK’s voice floated through Remington’s mind.

Remington hadn’t eaten or drunk in several hours and mixed with the heightened anxiety that he was experiencing he was starting to feel lightheaded. Before he could even say anything, he started to get dizzy. EK reached out to grab Remington before he hit the ground as Remington tried to grab the side of the hospital bed.

Neither of them were able to stop the fall, Remington coming down like a house of cards.


	4. Part 4

_I’m dying in a hot tub, with my friends._

Everything moved in slow motion. 

The fragile, matchstick body hit the hard laminate floor. EK didn’t catch him in time, Remington missed the railing of the hospital bed by mere millimetres. His head slammed into the ground. 'Remington!' EK yelled, voice ricocheting off the walls like a bullet in a bullet proof box. EK was on his knees right next to his brother within seconds, 'Rem, hey, hey, look at me.' EK gripped Remington’s shoulder’s, his blue eyes swimming with fear. 'Help!' EK’s voice urgent, he didn’t know if anyone could hear him through the door.

Remington lay still, eyes closed; just like Michael did above them. EK couldn’t get any response from his brother, he rocked him softly not wanting to cause any more damage if there was any. Just as EK was going to call for help again the door to Michael’s room flew opened and EK looked over his shoulder to see the four others standing there. ‘EK? What happened?’ Quinton’s voice filled with worry looking at the scene of his brothers.

‘Reid go get someone,’ Vincent said, turning to the others behind him. The shortest male took off down the hallway, calling for help.

Quinton saw blood, he raced to EK's side 'What happened?' He asked again, EK was in too much shock to reply to his oldest brother. Quinton kneeled next to the youngest and looked at Remington, he wasn’t looking back. Quinton’s hand reached for Remington just as the doctor came around the corner and into the room.

'Everyone back up, move,' the doctor instructed, as he himself knelt down to attended to Remington. Quinton pulled EK from Remington’s body as he stood up, he didn’t want to, but he needed too and it was heart wrenching. EK stood next to his oldest brother arms crossed over his chest, leg shaking from anxiety as the doctor and nurse — who just entered — attended to Remington. 

Everything moved quite quickly after the doctor arrived, Remington was taken away to be assessed and taken care of. A lot of words were thrown around that only Quinton really heard; another perfect example of Quinton being able to handle high anxiety situations better than anyone. Quinton went with the doctors that attended to Remington, as Remington’s next of kin he had to give them information and make decisions. EK, Vincent, Xavier and Reid were told they could stay with Michael, so they did. 

The small amount of blood was cleaned up from the floor by a nurse. EK sat head in his hands on a chair next to Michael’s bed, he tried to breath in time with Michael. Eventually EK looked up and laced his hand with Michael’s, resting his chin on the railing of the bed hoping Michael would wake up now more than ever.

Xavier was first to talk ‘So...’ He started, hoping it was okay to talk. ‘What did they say about Michael?’ He looked over to Reid who was sitting next to him back against the wall opposite from Michael’s bed.

‘He needs to be here for a day or so to let the IV’s run and flush the heroin from his system.’ Was all EK could really recall right now, he looked to Xavier and smiled slightly trying to show it was okay for them to talk. If someone talked it would help EK immensely, he wanted to feel useful or busy with conversation as to not pay attention to all the emotions that were filling up his body right now. He felt like a junk drawer that was slowly filling up with unnecessary feelings.

‘That’s good right?’ Reid piped up, sitting up straighter in his seat.

‘It’s a really good thing. The fact they didn’t have to do anything more than give him some medication and IV’s is the best outcome,’ Vincent said, looking down at his hands. EK searched Vincent for a moment, unsure of how he knew how good the news was about Michael was.

Just before EK could ask how Vincent knew, the door of Michael’s room clicked opened, and Quinton came into the room. He looked dishevelled, he wasn’t wearing his suit jacket anymore and some of the buttons of his shirt where undone.

'Is he okay?' EK asked before Quinton could even sit down. There was only one other chair free for Quinton to take, but he didn’t take it. He stood near the door so everyone could see him. Some of them leaned forward in anticipation to know the update on Remington’s health.

'He is fine.’ Quinton cleared his throat, ‘he has a little cut on the back of his head, but he won’t need any stitches. He might have a concussion though; they are just doing a couple tests to confirm,' Quinton explained to the group. Q looked to EK who seemed to be zoned out, he didn’t look at Quinton when he came in. He walked over to his youngest brother and wrapped an arm around him awkwardly.

Quinton had never been good at comforting his younger brothers, that’s why they comforted each other. Q was a lot more able to take care of the bigger situation, deal with the things that needed to be addressed, he never really learned how to deal with _people_. 'How’s Mike?' He asked, letting go of EK and standing next to him to look at his friend.

In Quinton’s eyes Michael looked okay; he didn’t look as pale as before, he seemed to be breathing at a normal rate and the monitors all looked (from what he could tell) normal. It was still a hard thing to see, his best friend of so many years lying in a hospital bed hooked up to so many machines and IV’s. 'He is okay, they said that his vitals are looking okay. He will have to stay here for a couple of days so the IV can run its course and get all of the heroin out of his system,' EK explained, again. ‘We’ve heard nothing since Rem and I got here.’.

'How is everyone else?' He asked. Vincent, Xavier and Reid were sitting in the chairs that were lined up against the wall opposite to Michael’s bed. They all looked beyond tired; Xavier looked like he was fighting off sleep more than any of them.

‘I’m alright,’ Vincent replied, leaning back in his chair.

‘Yeah, I’m okay. Just still in shock really,’ Reid said, camera in his lap with a protective hand wrapped around it.

‘So tired,’ Xavier admitted. He rested his head on Reid’s shoulder as he closed his eyes.

Quinton left EK’s side and sat in a chair on the other side of the bed. ‘You can go sleep in the bus if you want. I’ll come get you if there is any change in either of their health.’ Q tried to offer; he didn’t think anyone would have taken the option, but he wanted to put it out there anyway.

For the next hour or so the group sat in the room, listening to the crackling PA system come live with codes and pages, listening to the footsteps of people walking by the door and talking. Xavier had fallen asleep, refusing to take Quinton’s earlier offer about sleeping in the bus. EK had also fallen asleep, head on Michael’s bed (having put the rail down) and hand wrapped around his friend’s.

Vincent was first to speak in over an hour ‘I’m getting some more coffee, anyone want some?’ He asked the members of the group who were still awake.

‘Absolutely,’ Reid replied almost quicker than Vincent finished asking the question.

‘Yeah, get me one too.’ Quinton smiled at his best friend and he nodded. Vincent walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Even though Reid hadn’t been on tour with the band for long he fit in well, he was able to be himself with no worries. He was the most mundane of the group, but there was one thing they all shared was a passion and work ethic. Reid would stay up to ungodly hours of the morning editing photos and videos for the band, sleep for maybe five or six hours (sometimes a lot less), then get up and start working — following the band around with the camera.

He loved his work, he loved meeting new people and seeing new places. Leaning more and more about his craft and becoming a better person by growing from all the experiences he was having; thanks to Palaye Royale. When Michael joined the tour only a couple of weeks ago, it was the first time they’d met, they got on almost immediately due to both being film and photography students. Michael and Reid would spend whatever time they had to spare to talk about what it was like for Michael when he was working for the band.

Even though Reid had not known Michael long, they connected on a different level then everyone else. Seeing him like this was hard, not only because he cared for Michael but because this was the first time Reid had ever been in a situation like this. He wasn’t really sure what to expect or do.

***

A pain that kept building in pressure woke up EK for his light sleep, he raised his head to see Michael’s hand wrapped around his. ‘Hey, you’re okay Mike, you’re safe,’ EK told him but his mind was foggy and couldn’t take in the situation. Michael’s knuckles almost white in colour. EK took a moment to come around and become aware of that was actually going on, Michael was convulsing, he looked around frantically to find something ‘Q, oi!’ EK called to his oldest brother over Michael.

Quinton woke up startled in his chair, taking in immediately what was happening he got up grabbing a vomit bag from one of the draws behind him. Q pulled Michael into a sitting position, one hand on his back. Michael expelled bile, seeing as there was nothing inside him to actually throw up. 'Go get the doctor,' Quinton ordered. Reid got up first nodding and left the room, feet carrying him faster than normal; he wasn’t a massive fan of vomit.

Quinton started to rub circles into Michael's back while he continued to vomit, comforting him. Michael hadn’t let go of EK’s hand through the whole process, he wasn’t holding on so tightly anymore which was good. EK didn’t intend on letting go, but he did think for a second how overwhelming Michael might feel with so many people in the room and so many people touching him. 'Vin can you go check on Remi, let him know Michael’s up?' EK asked, Vincent nodded and left.

The thought floated back into EK's mind about how calm and knowledgeable Vincent seemed to be about the situation, it was slightly unsettling to him. As EK’s train of thought came to an end the door opened and a doctor came in followed by Reid who seemed slightly pale and weary of re-entering the room.

Quinton had raised the bed so Michael could sit up on his own now, the vomiting had stopped for the moment. The doctor came over to the bed and took the chart from the end of Michael’s bed and looked through it quickly ‘How are we feeling Mister Bolten?’ He asked looking at the machines. Michael didn’t reply. Quinton threw out the bag and then move around to the other side of the bed to give the doctor access to Michael, EK sat back down beside Michael.

As the doctor marked off some things on the clipboard and checked the levels of the IV bags hanging up, Michael began to shiver again. The doctor looked at Michael for a brief moment and then looked to Quinton ‘We’re going to start a new IV for him, this one might cause some more shaking and vomiting but he should be okay.’ Quinton rested a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder and nodded listening to the doctor. ‘For the moment he looks better than we expected him to look. You’re doing well Mister Bolten.’ The doctor smiled to the brunette in the bed.

Michael rolled over to face the doctor, his back to Quinton and EK; Reid thought to himself Michael must feel so ashamed or embarrassed. Of course, Michael never planned on this happening. He didn’t have much memory of what happened prior to waking up but he knew it wasn’t good. He didn’t want to face them, his friends who tried so hard to keep him clean, who were always there for him no matter what, the friends who took time out of their lives to learn about how to help him, so he didn’t feel alone.

'Thank you, Doc,' Quinton said. After checking off a couple more things on the chart the doctor left, hanging the board on the end of Michael’s bed. Quinton gave EK a couple of pats on the back — for reassurance — before he went to take Vin’s seat next to Reid. EK didn’t know what else to do but rub Michael’s back, he didn’t want to push Michael to engage with them or talk if he didn’t want too. There was no way EK could even begin to understand how Michael might be feeling right now. Overwhelmed, confused, embarrassed and maybe even scared.

The monitors beeped in time with Michael’s heart, a healthy and steady beat. EK thought of Vincent telling Remington that Michael was awake, he knew if Vin didn’t tie Remington to the bed before telling him he would be running down here at the speed of light. Remington needed to rest just as much as Michael did, getting up and moving around wasn’t going to help him or Michael.

It was quiet for a moment; it almost felt like the whole entirety of the world stopped for a moment; everyone looked at each other but also didn’t — it felt like they looked _through_ each other. ‘I’m sorry,’ a small and shaky voice came from Michael, barely audible. EK went to tell Michael that it was okay, there was nothing to be sorry for and that they were here now and he was going to get better.

But the machines interrupted him, the beeping that was tracking Michael’s heart rate became more frantic in beats. Quinton jumped out of his chair as did EK, Q made it to the side Michael was facing to make sure he was okay. His eyes were closed, he was shaking ‘Someone, get someone!’ He cried out to the room as he tried to turn Michael over to get a better look at him.

There wasn’t much use though, there wasn’t anything they could do to stop what was happening.

As the doctor arrive Michael’s heart monitor was showing a flatline.

No one knew how defining a sound like that could be.


	5. Part 5

_I’m here_ _._

Remington pulled on a black blazer, hands shaking. His head hurt from the light that was pouring into his room from his windows. He wasn’t ready for this, he felt like he would never be ready for this. No matter how many hugs, no amount of _I love you’s_ or _It’s going to be okay’s _were going to prepare him for this day.

He looked up at the dirty full-length mirror and took in his appearance. Black jeans tight to his thin legs, black long sleeve button up shirt, black blazer and his black Fred Perry boots. He tried to look appropriate for the _event_ but he also didn’t want to go. He looked washed out, an almost yellow tint to his complexion. He felt sick. 

He sighed, brushing his hands down on his blazer, and walked to his bathroom. He dug through his makeup bag to find some black eyeliner. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to put it on right with how much his hands where shaking. Once he found it, he pulled the cap off the pencil and leaned closer to the mirror to get a better view of where he was putting the eyeliner.

He took a deep breath in and then started lining his upper lash line, his hand shook, the line was uneven. He stopped. ‘Fuck sake,’ he muttered, pulling a makeup wipe from its packet to remove it and start again. As he started again his eyes began to sting, his eyes watering.

Remington had these moments throughout the morning where he remembered what he was getting ready for. Of course, he knew where he was going but it was like remembering the inevitable, whether he was ready or not he was going to be sitting in a funeral home listening to a celebrant talk about his best friend’s life.

A tear rolled down the side of Remington’s face, as he went to wipe it away with his hand there was a knock on his bathroom door. Remington looked behind him, eyes wide with panic, to see his younger brother standing behind him. His heart tried to calm down. EK was dressed in new clothes; but clothes that suited his style. Black jeans, white button up shirt and red suspenders.

EK didn’t believe in wearing all black to an event meant for celebrate someone's life, and he refused to bend his rules for this one in particular. Which in hindsight Michael probably would have appreciated. EK’s nails had been chewed back so much that they had bled, but he refused to let anyone even mention anxiety to him. 

‘Let me help you,’ he whispered walking into the bathroom and taking the eyeliner pencil from Remington’s hand. He could tell Remington was frustrated, he was jumpy, anxiety cloaked his fragile body. ‘Close your eyes,’ he instructed his brother to do. Remington let EK put on his eyeliner as he tried to focus on breathing, he wanted to stop shaking but deep down he knew he wasn’t going to be able to.

‘Open, I need to do the bottom,’ EK said, Remington opened his eyes. He could tell EK had been crying because his eyes where; glassy, clear and bright, it was common in people with blue eyes. It was also obvious because of the makeup around his eyes which was smudged. Remington looked up as EK lined his waterline ‘You going to wear eyeshadow?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Remington replied. Probably a dark brown so it wasn’t so harsh, he didn’t want to wear his normal red. ‘Can you help?’ He asked, knowing EK wouldn’t have a problem helping him.

‘Of course, Rem.’ EK put the pencil down and shuffled through Remington's make up bag and found a small eyeshadow palette. It held four colours: black, red, brown and a silver glitter. ‘I’m going to assume you’re not going for red today?’ Remington nodded in response to EK’s question and pointed to the brown shade. EK applied the soft powder to Remington’s eyelids with his fingers and put it down once he was done. EK stepped back and looked at his work, making sure it was okay.

‘Thanks, EK,’ Remington thanked his brother. He wrapped his arms around EK's shoulders. EK returned the hug, standing there embracing his brother. They both didn’t want to talk about the event today was leading up to, so unspoken words through touching was how they communicated. The hug was necessary.

‘Rem we’re leaving in five,’ Quinton called through Remington’s bedroom door, breaking the moment the two younger brothers were sharing.

‘Okay,’ Remington called back. He pulled away from EK and let his brother go and finish getting ready.

Once Remington was left alone again in his seemingly empty room, the darkness set back in. In less than half an hour he was going to be saying goodbye to his best friend. He paced around his room, picking at his nails until Quinton called that the car had arrived for them. The car to take them to Michael’s funeral. Remington took a shaky breath and walked out of his room. From here on everything felt like, his brain had chosen to disconnect from the intensity of his emotions, so he was able to get through the day. He felt vacant but present enough. He walked down the hallway, then the stairs and arrived at the front door where he nodded to Quinton.

Quinton patted him on the back, and they proceeded to get into the car, followed by EK. Quinton wore a dark navy-blue suit with a black shirt underneath. Remington had not seen his older brother cry yet, he handled it like every other serious matter. With calm and organised thoughts and actions. It didn’t bother Remington much, but it bothered EK.

EK thought Quinton didn’t care about what happened. How their best friend, the person they grew up with had died because _they_ didn’t watch him close enough, _they_ didn’t show Michael enough love and openness. EK would yell at Quinton for hours ‘It’s your fault he’s dead. You never showed him how much he meant to you. It’s _your_ fault Quinton,’ EK would say, Quinton would never say anything back he would just go on with what he was doing.

Quinton had organised the whole funeral, from the guest list to the flowers, the music, the casket, the words spoken about their best friend. He sorted the whole thing so that his younger brothers, who were not handling the loss well, didn’t have to know what that was like. When Remington and EK would finally fall asleep at night, or early in the morning, Q would cry. Sometimes he believed the words that EK said, but he knew deep down EK was only saying them because he was hurting, and Q was the best thing to yell at.

Quinton knew that putting on a brave face, not cracking under the pain, was a risk. He knew that EK wouldn’t like it, but if he didn’t it would have made not only planning the funeral harder, but it also would have made his brothers worse. Seeing someone who had been pulled together and always had the situation under control your life; breakdown. Triggers something in your brain. It makes you realise just how bad the situation is.

Out of everyone, Q was more concerned with how Remington was dealing; Michael might have been everyone’s best friend, but him and Remington were attached ever since they met. Quinton kept an eye on Remington not only because of the likelihood of himself destructing to deal with the abyss of pain inside him right now, but because he was also still recovering from a hairline fracture on his skull. Though there was nothing Remington wasn’t allowed to do, Q still wanted to make sure he was taking it easy and making sure he was looked after. 

When Michael’s time of death was confirmed, one of the first things Quinton did was call their tour manager who had already arrived at the destination. And told them what had happened. She told him she would call the promoters and label and get them home as soon as possible. There was never a single word of the tour continuing regardless of the situation. And it wasn’t the only factor, Remington was told to pull back from performing while his fracture healed.

Once they got home Quinton made sure that he made them breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. He made sure the two younger ones had everything they needed, everything that could comfort them and keep them from falling to far into the void. He knew that if he cried today during the service it would show EK he did care but could also cause him to start a fight ‘_Oh now you care! Why? Because all these people are here?_’ he could see it in his mind now. It was unfortunate, but that was just the way that EK’s pain showed.

Remington rested his head, with now black hair, on Quinton shoulder as they were driven down the road towards the funeral home. Remington held EK’s hand, or EK was holding Remington’s, they didn’t really know or care. The emotions in the small car where high you could almost see it. The drive wasn’t long, but it was enough time for Remington to have a moment where he remembered where he was going and why he was going. Breaking down into tears before reaching the location. EK shed a few tears while he was trying to calm Remington.


	6. Part 6

_I’ll see you on the other side._

It had been almost a month since Michael had passed away. The band had received a lot of messages from fans, letting them know they were loved and that they could take all the time they needed to grieve the loss of their best friend. Even though they were taking their time, some of them found it easier to fall back into making music — as their own way of coping. 

EK sat at the piano, Remington leaning on the slender body next to him. It was dimly lit in the room, as Remington had a headache; which he’d not told anyone about even though he’d had it for days. He didn’t want Quinton to worry about his head injury, Remington didn’t want to go back to the hospital or to a doctor. There was a small lamp the sat in the corner of the room, Remington was able to see his scribbled notes clearly without much discomfort. The warm light settled around them as Remington flipped through his notes atop the piano’s body and spoke.

‘From the bridge?’ He looked up to his brother, EK nodded clearing his throat and then started to play the keys of the song they’d been writing.

'_Yeah, I’m here, and you’re gone, I’ll see you on the other side,_' Remington sung, softly. He tried to not let his voice break from the emotions he was feeling, seeping into his mind. As he repeated the line, the closer he got to the climax of the song; letting more and more emotion bleed through in his vocals. As he reached the final repeat of the lyric, he tensed his body, pushing out the aggression and hurt he felt. His eyes burned as he held back the tears that threatened him.

Memories of Michael flooding through his mind; laughing together, talking, going on long drives, going on adventures together — every memory showing like he was sitting in a movie theatre. Watching his life with his best friend show on the big screen, pulling at his heart like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

‘_Well I’ll fly to the moon again, well I’m sleeping with clothes up on my head,_’ Remington sung, the raw emotion finally taking over and coming through. His voice didn’t crack; it became more and more powerful. It was harder to get through the end of the song, but he made it; trying to catch his breath after he finished. The memories still rolling through his mind.

This song was written for Michael. This was how Remington was processing his feelings.

As EK finished playing, he got up and hugged Remington ‘It’s beautiful Remi.’ EK’s protective arms wrapping around his brothers shoulders ‘he would have loved it,’ he finished. EK truly loved the song, and he was glad this was the way Remington was coping instead of diving into drinking or something worse.

While EK and Remington where creating music, Vincent and Quinton where sitting outside near the pool in the sun. They had been sitting there quiet for a couple hours. Even after all this time there was still a burning question that Quinton had for Vincent, all the seemingly well-known information he’d had about what was going on with Michael. He’d hoped that Vincent would tell him what he started to say back at the hospital that night. 'What happened to that friend?' Quinton finally asked. 'You don’t have to tell me, I don’t want to put that memory back into your mind,' he said quickly following up on his question. Nervous of sounding rude, he fiddled with the tab on his beer can.

This was a hard time for everyone, and Quinton didn’t want to damage already fragile feelings with the past and make Vincent feel worse. 'I had a friend who,' Vincent sighed, slightly uncomfortable, 'who was in the same situation as Michael was,' Vincent finished, eyes closing as he remembered them for a moment. The memory didn’t hurt so much anymore, but right now, after everything that had just happened with Michael it did a little bit. 

Vincent received a call one morning around seven AM, five years ago, from his friend’s mother. Telling him that his friend was in the hospital for a drug overdose. Just as Vincent got to the hospital he died. They later found out it was a heroin overdose.

'I’m so sorry Vin, if I knew...' Quinton trailed off, not entirely sure what he would have done if he knew. Though Quinton wasn’t good at offering comfort he did try and sometimes that was enough for the people around him.

Vincent shrugged slightly, taking a sip from his beer 'It’s okay Q, I dealt with it a long time ago. I’m at peace with it now. This last month kind of just brought up all those emotions again. The what if’s that float around sometimes,' Vincent confessed to Quinton. Of course, these events would bring those up, they never really go away. Vincent knew what is was like to go through something like this, and he was thankful he was able to manage himself.

The two sat and drank in the sun while Remington had finally broken down inside. After practicing the song over and over, trying to make it perfect he couldn’t hold off the inevitable anymore, he dropped to his knees as he finished the bridge, voice cracking at the last note. EK watched as this finally happened and decided to step in, on stage some nights he would see his brother hurting but it added to his performance, so he let him go. But in the privacy of their own home, he wouldn’t let Remington hurt himself like this. He wouldn’t let his brother fight his demons alone.

Remington let out a cracked sob, hiding his face from his brother. He didn’t feel ashamed, but he felt like curling up into a ball and disappearing. His heart felt like a black hole; it was consuming all the light inside him. It felt like his breathing was empty, like air wasn’t coming out or going in.

EK was able to cope with Remington being upset, his brother had been destroyed by the last month. Michael was their best friend, and the one time they wanted to take him on tour not as their videographer. It was his downfall. They all felt some level of responsibility for it, Remington couldn’t push out the thoughts of it being his fault. He wanted Michael to come on tour with him, he wanted to show him what touring was like without being addicted. 

'It’s my fault,' Remington shuddered as he cried into EK’s shoulder. EK tightened his arm around Remington’s body. The thoughts never left his mind, it only got more and more intrusive as time went on.

'It’s not your fault Rem, you didn’t make him do it.’ EK ran his hand through Remington soft black hair. ‘He chose that path, he made the choice to leave you,’ EK tried. ‘To leave us.’.

No matter what EK did, no matter the approach whether it was being realistic or just comforting his brother by holding him; nothing seemed to work. It broke EK’s heart. Sometimes Remington felt like being around people, even if it was EK, he couldn’t fully express himself emotionally.

'I need to be alone,' Remington said quietly after a couple minutes of pulling himself together. EK let him go and the two stood up, Remington straightened out his t-shirt as a way to feel more put together. Remington had gotten himself a little present which he’d been keeping upstairs in his bedroom. He hoped that it would help him understand Michael better, or maybe help him relate to Michael in a way they seemed not too when he was alive.

EK was momentarily shocked by the immediate need Remington felt to be alone, seeing as they had been sleeping in the same bed for the last week because Remington didn’t want to be alone. Though EK didn't question it any further. He nodded and moved back to the piano, sitting on the hard seat and resting his fingers on the white and black keys. Being at a piano was second nature to him, he’d been learning since he was six; there was nothing that felt more natural than playing the piano.

Remington left the room with his head hung low and eyes squinted, from the bright light that filled the house. He shielded his eyes as he made his way through the hallway, head spinning. Remington saw Quinton and Vincent outside drinking and thought for a fleeting moment that he might go join them but then decided against that. As he walked through the kitchen, grabbing a spoon on the way into the living room.

Eyes still not adjusting to the light, he saw Xavier and Reid had passed out on the sofas. The two had basically moved in at this point, but no one was complaining. There just weren’t enough bedrooms for all of them, Xavier and Reid took up residence in the living room, Reid took up the small space of the sofa that Xavier’s long body didn’t take up. Remington almost laughed at how well the two fit almost perfectly on the sofa, like they were supposed to be there.

There was a TV show playing on the big screen that one of them must have put on for background noise. The house could sound very quiet at times, and a big empty house made your thoughts louder. Something everyone was trying to avoid, in a way. He shrugged to himself and walked past his sleeping friends and up the staircase to his bedroom, it was the third door on the left down the hallway. Quinton’s was first, then EK’s then his and lastly Michael’s room.

For a moment Remington stood at the dark hallway and looked at the last door, he’d not been in there since before they left for tour, almost a month and a half ago. Quinton told Remington that he didn’t need to go in there, that he would do everything if Remington wanted him too. They knew it would have to be cleared out and redone, but eventually they would have to use it again. They knew no one would want to stay in the room for a couple of months, maybe even a year. Everyone knew it was Michael’s bedroom, and him not being in there was going to take some getting used too.

He walked into his bedroom, opening the white door into what felt like depression. The room was black, there was no light attempted to enter. Remington liked it that way, he was able to sleep in that environment. He walked over to his window and slid back the certain only slightly to let in a little light, just enough to see but not enough to hurt his head.

He moved across the trashed floor and sat on the edge of his bed and rested his elbows on his knees, chin in hands. He thought over and over if he should do what he was intending to do. There were pros and cons to it all. In the end the list of pros won. He wanted to know what it was like, why Michael wanted it so badly, why he’d risked everything for it. Why Michael _did_ risk everything for it.

Remington slid off the bed and onto the wooden floor below him. He sat cross legged, once again thinking about if he should do this. Acting almost on impulse he looked under his bed for a small yellow box. He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal and pulled it out. It was a little bigger than his hand, he sighed before unclipping the lock on it and opening it — inspecting the contents: syringe, pink lighter and a small bag of off-white powder.

Remington took a shaky breath and stood up; he didn’t really know what he was doing so he felt nerves lingering in his skin. He sat in the middle of his bed, preparing himself for after the dose, not knowing how he was going to react.

His blue sheets creased around his legs. He reopened the yellow box and placed it in front of him, he pulled out the contents and laid it all out on the bed, placing the spoon he grabbed from the kitchen on the bed too.

He picked up the small bag and tapped out some of the powder onto the spoon, he placed the bag back into the box. Picking up the lighter, he flicked the gas and the hot flame came into existence. He held the lighter under the spoon, the powder soon started to bubble and turn into a yellowish liquid. Heroin often didn’t have an odour but sometimes it could smell like vinegar, depending on what it was cut with.

Remington took his finger off the lighter and put the lighter down, grabbing the syringe; he pulled the liquid up into the barrel. Grabbing a bandana from his bedside table and wrapping it around the middle of his bicep. He flexed his hand a couple times, balling it into a fist, not taking long to find a vein. 

He took a deep breath as he rested the needle on the surface of his pale skin. For a quiet moment he rethought the decision, was he really sure he wanted to do this? The blaming thoughts wanted him to do it, and they won.

'To the moon,' he whispered before he pushed in the needle slowly, he closed his eyes as he dispensed the drug into his bloodstream. Once the barrel was empty, he pulled the needle out and undid the bandana. Remington was not well educated in how much he should have taken, or if he even did it right but in the next few moments he laid back and slowly felt himself grow lighter and lighter. His eyes getting heavy and his body felt almost not real.

It felt like he was floating, an immediate high, euphoric. Remington smiled as he floated in what felt very much like space. _This was what Michael must have been addicted too, the feeling of being light, feeling weightless_, Remington thought.

The male slowly started to fade into darkness; the void closed in around him.

_'What are you doing here?' A familiar voice came from beside the dark-haired-boy, he scanned the area around him until his chocolatey eyes landed on a face he knew. Someone he thought he’d never see again._

_The space around him was bright, clean even. There were no objects in this space, it was just white all around. Remington couldn’t tell if there were walls or floors. It didn’t really worry him; he was just happy to see his best friend again._

_'I wanted to know what it was like,' he replied. The other looked almost disappointed in him, frowning. His chest tightened slightly; he didn’t want to disappoint them._

_'I wish you didn’t,' the reply was sharp. It cut Remington deeply. He tore his eyes from the brunette and looked around again, the place he was in was somehow fuzzy around the sides. He didn’t know if he was dead or not._

_He felt warm here, and even though it might not have been real he wanted to stay here forever, and he just might._

Remington’s bedroom door clicked open and then cold hands wrapped around his thin arms 'Oh Remi, what have you done?' Quinton's asked panic in his voice, he looked down at his brother who was laying eyes closed.

Quinton’s brother wasn’t there anymore, he was on the moon far, far away.


End file.
